Mister Holmes the Younger
by redtaxi
Summary: Charlie Watkins meets Mister Holmes the Younger. Parentlock, sherlolly.
1. Chapter 1

This is one of my odd ones. Trying to humorous but perhaps, just missing the mark. I wrote it right after The Sign of Three but the Last Vow crushed me so wholeheartedly, I hadn't thought to posting it with much excitement. That being said, I also think its a little poorly written but your judgement shall be better than mine own.

This is set in a wonderful sherlolly-marriage utopia.

_For you_, lovely sherlollians.

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><p>Panic is the essence of rush.<p>

Or in the case of Charles Watkins, it was the motive behind his speeding steps towards Westminster.

With the deadline made, 48 hours passed, not including the 71 minutes it took him to search down the address, board a train and rush over here, Charles Watkins was starting to feel that luck was on his side.

Until he tried the doorbell, of course. The buzzer rang out, he could hear it but there was no scuttling to the door. He gave it a fourth try but not before, an audience of the cafe goers began to glare at the man maniacally thrusting his finger into the cracked button.

"Oh for Gods sakes-"

Watkins twisted the door handle aggressively, storming inside before he met head first into an unusually warm wall. A talking one too, for that matter.

"Oi! I was coming! You don't have to barge-"

"Holmes-Sherlock Holmes-" Watkins gasped, paying no mind to the old lady's complaints.

He sought out her readiness and was blessed as the lady turned a finger towards the staircase. He might have choked on relief.

"Upstairs. Two minutes, I would have been there in two minutes" The lady began to grumble but he had already began his speedy ascent up the stairs.

For the first time that morning, Watkins felt a bubble of hope rise up in his chest as he pushed against the ajar door on the second floor.

It was tragic how it happened to burst instantly as he took his first step into the flat.

The room was in working conditions, newspapers scattered over the sofa, a coffee table lined with cups but no mess could make up for the absence of an obvious resident. That was until Watkins noticed, among the chaos, a small boy with his back turned away from him.

The boy, [_no more than ten, eleven, twelve_?] swivelled his head around to face the unexpected guest. He gave Watkins a passing look of disinterest before leaping up to his feet.

"Sit."

Watkins couldn't help his gaping mouth nor did it seem that his legs were in working order either but nevertheless, the young boy repeated his command, rather sharper than before.

"Sit...please". The boy's manners came out as if they were an afterthought but it was enough to push Watkins into the nearest sofa.

He plonked down, nervous hands wrangled themselves tightly in his lap as he stared, baffled by the young boy now fitting himself into an opposing leather armchair.

Watkins was made ever so aware of the boy's youth, as his pale legs dangled above the floor, the leather chair dwarfing his already tiny body.

Despite all this, the boy managed to squeeze back into the chair before lifting his hands to sit underneath his chin, in a manner quite unsuited for his age.

"Err, should you be-" Watkins began,

"What's the problem?" The boy interrupted rudely but Watkins, too puzzled, too lost to question his reality, spat out his nerves in a heaving ramble.

"She's gone, she's supposed to be home but I don't think she came back. I know I should have waited up but-"

Watkins soon realised that the boy gave no attention to his words but rather, was staring blatantly at his bottom half, his unwashed trackies and dirty runners. He shifted uncomfortably under this intense gaze.

"I called everyone but she's not there, she's gone-she's-"

"Dog!"

"-What?"

"Dog hair, you're covered in it." The boy exclaimed in a squeak.

Watkins looked down at his scuffed pants, rubbing his hands over his thighs anxiously, "Yeah. Jacky, my dog. She's gone missing-"

"What breed is she?" The boy got curious, fiddling excitedly in his chair.

"Err-Shih Tzu-look, I need-"

"Oh." The boy's shoulders fell considerably, Watkins, picking up on his disappointment instantly.

"Mum says we can't have a dog till Toby dies." The boy blew out exaggeratedly, his brown curls bouncing off his forehead.

"Right." The boyish gesture pushed Watkins back into reality._ He's just a lad._ "Listen, you wouldn't know if Sherlock Holmes is-"

The hands under the chin were back with vengeance, as the boy turned sharp eyes upon Watkins, completely devoid of that boyish glee before. "Why'd you let her go?"

Shocked by the sudden accusation, Watkins bit back somewhat childishly, "I didn't-I mean I did, she likes to go out for a bit. Always comes back though."

"You should be careful. Dogs always go on adventures."

"Jacky doesn't."

"Maybe she got bored. It's very easy for dogs to get bored, you know." The boy tilted his head at Watkins with an innocent look.

Watkins looked positively offended at the suggestion. "My dog wasn't bored."

"And she's a small dog and they get lost in sewers all the time! One time, John found a puppy near the Embankment and Mary said I could keep it 'cos they had the baby then but-"

Watkins jumped off the sofa onto his feet before snapping loudly, "Listen! I haven't got time to flap about with some kid about puppies! I need to see Sherlock Holmes."

"William."

A deep voice turned their heads towards the entrance, Watkins's eyes widened with recognition as the coated detective stepped into the flat.

While Watkins gaped at the sight of Sherlock Holmes, the graying detective he only knew through newspaper snippets, pub gossip, the accusing boy (whose mop of hair now looked decidedly familiar) only stiffened in his chair, his eyes bashfully kept low.

"What are you doing?"

Watkins darted between the two of them, eyeing them carefully, almost in anticipation of a fight.

"Just a case." The boy did not mince his words but spoke them only to the front of Watkins, blatantly ignoring the detective by the door.

This isn't the first time, Watkins thought as he watched Sherlock Holmes breathed stiffly through his nose.

"Mrs. Hudson will need you downstairs. Her soothers are about to kick in." Holmes said sternly, walking over to the leather armchair, he pointedly gestured towards the door.

The boy took only a dawdling moment, a short "_Hurry up then_" from his father before he began a heavy walk towards the stairs.

The detective turned his attention to Watkins whose eyes were still trained on the retreating boy, "Now-" Holmes ran his eyes over Watkins, "Missing dog?"

"Mm-what? Oh yep, yeah Jacky, my dog." Watkins mumbled.

"Uncommon choice of dog for a bricklayer, a Maltese."

Before Watkins could correct him, a tiny voice called out from the stairs. "SHIH TZU!"

"MRS. HUDSON!" The detective bellowed back, the noise of scuttling feet followed quickly after.

Watkins looked around cautiously, his hands gave a nervous twist as he shared a faint smile with the man opposite, "He's yours, then eh?"

The detective was still watching the door, waiting for something, [a clear slam of the door downstairs rattled the house], before answering darkly,

"Oh _yes_, he's definitely mine."

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><p>A tiny backstory, for it may not appear in this story but I have a theory that Young William was previously invited on cases, encouraged even but as of late, his skills have been showing up old papa, much to his mother's amusement. Sherlock is less inclined to have him tagging along now. But go with whatever flows your sherlolly ship.<p>

Thank you again for reading, you beauties.

Also, may I put out an request for a beta? Please pm if anyone could spare the time, it would be greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

The return of William finds him making new friends in odd places. This has faint sherlolly so I promise a Mister Holmes the Younger piece of sherlolly goodness in the future. A special thankyou to those who continue to read these little useless tidbits. You are tooo amazing, you know that!

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><p>The department was filtering out; the on goings of a Wednesday don't normally involve such an exodus but at four, Donovan was already finding the cubicles of her colleagues, emptied and abandoned.<p>

Taking a worried look to her own desk, it is clear that she wouldn't be leaving early.

"Jones?" She called out to a junior PC still perched at her desk. "Did Dimmock pass on the Matterson's ballistics?"

"Yes, ma'am. Gave them to me before he left." As she was passed the document, Donovan saw the budding leg of her colleague, jump up impatiently. No doubt eager to join their cohort down at the pub.

She raked a weary hand through her hand as she spoke, "Head home, Constable. I can handle it here."

"What of the kid, ma'am?"

"Kid?" Donovan leaned out of her doorway, dipping low as she scanned the corridor where lo and behold, on the plastic seats pushed against the wall, sat a young boy, almost overshadowed by his large, puffy parka.

"Jesus, a kid. Who leaves a kid here?" She muttered, scanning the room for the absent minder as her junior PC began to pick up her stuff, a coat swung over her shoulder in anticipation. "Go on, I'll-yeah, I'll deal with it."

Half wishing she could call Jones back, Donovan muttered to herself before heading down the corridor, straight towards the boy whose head lifted only an inch as he heard her approach.

"You alright there? Someone here with you?" She spoke softly, leaning over to meet his height.

The boy jolted up, startling Donovan who didn't expect to be faced with such an inquisitive look, especially from a child. She waited patiently as the boy suddenly turned a deep red, ruffling the sleeves of his parka as his head dropped down again.

Taking a seat by his side, Donovan tried a different approach, "Bet you have a name. Mine's Sally."

She watched in earnest amusement as the boy mumbled something into his coat. She fished out from her pocket a scuffed card, the embossed letters of her name and position stood out in black ink. She hovered it close to the boy's face.

"You see, Sally Donovan. Got my name and everything."

The boy didn't reach for the card but instead leaned forward to stare at it, his little eyes widening as he spoke, "_Detective? Y_ou're a detective?_"_

Not helping the sudden burst of ego that rushed through her at the boy's awe, Donovan joked, "Well, yeah. It's on the card, innit?"

"I want to be a detective." The boy added quietly before continuing, "I suppose you do a lot of solving crimes, don't you?"

"Only on the good days," She joked, before leaning in to whisper teasingly, "they make me do a lot of paperwork."

"_No_." The hushed shock of the boy almost caused Donovan to break character before she parodied on, nodding solemnly.

"Oh yeah, stacks of it. But most days, we get to do a lot of cool stuff."

Seemingly impressed, the boy began to press for more details but suddenly tarmac floors echoed the arrival of strangers, though Donovan immediately recognized the approaching figures.

For the former, she gave an quick smile to her superior but couldn't help to be surprised at the sight of his companion, a face she hadn't seen for a long while.

"Keeping up late again, Donovan?" Lestrade called out to her, his own smile stopping short at the sight of boy beside her. "Hang on, you left him here!?"

Donovan watched on in confusion as Lestrade turned to Sherlock Holmes, the graying detective who took very little notice of the Inspector's indignation, instead knelled in front of the boy, quick to pull the child's hands into his.

"William, are you well?" Holmes asked quietly, the boy nodding quickly before shooting a corner glance at Donovan.

Donovan, lost in the developments, turned to the Inspector for further elaboration but received only a frustrated shrug. She fell onto her own investigations, "Wait a second, Holmes. You left a boy-"

"My son." Holmes corrected her swiftly, his face hardening as if to expect a tirade. "There's no safer place than the Met for a child." The second part came almost reluctantly, convincing neither of them of its argument but Donovan watched as Holmes's hand tightened over the boy's. The family resemblance was undeniable as Holmes, the bloody consulting detective, clung to his son, a stark mirror of his father with darkish curls.

She swallowed her rebuke, the heavy guilt that now riddled the detective's face made it feel somehow redundant.

"Get him home, Sherlock." Lestrade sighed, rubbing his eyes, "And you better be doing the same, Donovan."

Before she could depart, Donovan felt a slight tug at her sleeves, looking down into familiar inquisitive eyes.

"I would very much like to have the card-please." The boy, Holmes's Son, _William _asked bashfully, though an eager hand stretched out to receive it.

She ignored both Lestrade and Holmes's faces as she placed the card into his palm with a warm smile, whispering conspiratorially to him, "Give me a call if he leaves you in a supermarket or something, alright?"

She thought nothing of the twitch Holmes made as he caught her whisper.

William, unlike his father, glowed with joy before nodding slowly. He gave her a clumsy salute with his padded sleeve as he muttered, "Detective."

Donovan followed his little nod of farewell with her own, "_Detective_."

Straightening up, Donovan finally looked to Holmes who appeared in wonder at the conversation before him. She watched him gulped uncomfortably before giving her a sharp nod of his head, leading his son towards the exit.

"Got yourself a fan there." Lestrade spoke just as the doors closed behind the Holmeses.

Donovan just shrugged, unable to shake the warm smile off her face, "The first from that family, I imagine."

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><p>gracias a todos. besitos para todos y os quiero mucho muchooooo!<p> 


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